Satisfied
by virtualfindingsdocumented
Summary: The young daughter of the Duchess meets someone in a ball. Based on the Hamilton song. R/Beatrice, Lemony/Beatrice.


The giant glass windows of the palace let us watch the snow outside without feeling the cold. The candles that burned in the chandeliers and candelabras gave the ballroom warmth and their light that crossed colored crystals gave it a strange atmosphere. It was very different from the foggy, dusty gray that followed us everywhere.

This place was supposed to be my home, but the only memories I had of there were so old and blurry that they could as well be only dreams.

I stood on the side, trapped in a dress my mother chose for me. It was a bit too tight and a bit too long and nothing like me. I watched her greet the guests, old volunteers with white mustaches and graying hair.

When she wasn't looking, my eyes would find Lemony on the other side of the room. I had helped him with his bowtie earlier, and mother had made a very unpleasant comment when she saw us. He looked funny in that suit that didn't really fit him.

He had pointed earlier that if an accident happened with one of the hundred candles in the ballroom, we wouldn't be able to do anything, not with those awful misfitting clothes.

I looked at him and he looked at me, and I made a tired expression. He rolled his eyes. I tried to cover a silent laugh.

A group of people around our age entered. I recognized some faces. They chatted loudly, which made mother frown. They didn't care.

I was a little jealous. They seemed to really be having fun, and their clothes looked comfortable, even if I could see some crooked ties and skirts too short. I wanted to join them but I saw that mother stared at the group with her best "my daughter would never behave so improperly" face.

I sighed.

A few more young volunteers entered. My eyes were drawn to a young woman who was by herself. She was very well dressed compared to the rest - even my mother wouldn't find a reason to complain - though it was nothing fancy. It was simply adequate. It struck me as odd, as it was hard to see someone our age being adequate, even in our organization, even in families like mine.

But what really caught my attention were her eyes. They were dark, and carried a mix of wisdom and sadness, and seemed to be looking for something.

I wanted to talk to her.

I looked around but couldn't find Lemony. He was probably being embarrassed by one of his siblings somewhere. I took slow steps, feeling my mother's piercing gaze almost constantly. I got used to it since coming back home.

"I didn't realize it was a sad occasion", I said, because of course of all things I could think to say my lips had to settle for a basic code phrase that everyone in the room was supposed to know.

She turned to me with a mischievous smile.

"Balls are not usually sad occasions, though you could say the world is quiet here - if by quiet we mean 'safe and calm' and not 'silent', as the music is quite loud."

I felt something in my heart melting at her response - quick, smart, perfectly adequate but still playful. I could tell from that moment that she was a person I would enjoy talking to.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself." She said.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a ball. You should be having fun. But here you are, quiet and proper."

Oh, the audacity! I was left speechless for a moment at the unasked for comment.

"Maybe this is how I enjoy myself."

"It could be, but I don't think it's the case." She shrugged. "I don't think you have ever truly done something in which you enjoyed yourself." A pause. "We are alike in this."

"Are we?"

She smiled.

"Where are my manners? My name is Beatrice Baudelaire. It's an honour to meet you, Miss...?"

I smiled back.

"I will feel offended if you don't know who I am."

She raised her hand to her chest.

"Of course I do know, your grace."

I giggled, surprising even myself. The atmosphere between us was light and comfortable. I could live in that conversation.

"I have never met a volunteer with the last name Baudelaire. Where is your family from?" I asked, out of habit. I was taught to always know about my associates' families.

Her smile vanished for a moment.

"Unimportant. You've met me now."

How could I protest?

Beatrice asked about my clothes, that she could tell were not my choice. I asked about hers, and she evaded the question. We agreed that the definition of "proper" we had to follow was not the best one, as we were both uncomfortable and had our movements restrained. I told her the thing Lemony had told me earlier about the candles.

My eyes left her for a moment, and I found him across the room. He was staring at us, mouth slightly open. No, not at us. At Beatrice.

I knew Lemony enough to be able to tell even from the distance that he was speechless, motionless, defenseless... helpless.

I looked back at Beatrice, who gave me a confused glance. I felt my heart melting again. I knew then that I loved her. I was just as helpless as him when I looked into her brown eyes.

I wanted to grab her hand and run away with her. But I knew better. In fact, three very important thoughts crossed my mind at the exact same time.

I grabbed her hand, but I did not pull her outside.

The first important thought was that I knew my place. Mother never stopped reminding me. I was the daughter of the Duchess, and one day I would be the Duchess. I had to get married and one day have a daughter to be the Duchess after me. My whole life was drawn before me.

That life could never have Beatrice in it.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"I am about to change your life." I replied.

"Then, by all means, lead the way."

I was walking with a very fixed destination in mind.

The second important thought was that Beatrice was a person with ambitions. I could see it very clearly in how she spoke, and in what she didn't speak. I asked about her family, and what did she answer? Nothing. She was probably a first generation volunteer, looking for her place in our organization. Getting close to someone like me would benefit her greatly.

I was not the only one there with a valuable surname.

"Beatrice, meet my friend, Lemony Snicket," I said. Her eyes lit up as she looked at him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She said, giving him her hand.

She was right, I had never done anything in which I truly enjoyed myself. Maybe I never would.

"T-the pleasure is mine." He said, his stutter minimal but very noticeable to me.

The third important thought was that I knew Lemony better than I knew myself. He had fallen at first sight for her, like this was some sort of novel. He had always been a romantic.

He couldn't read me so easily. He had no idea how I felt, and I could tell him. He would try to pretend he didn't feel anything, and he would maybe even help me woo Beatrice, no matter how much it hurt him.

She was a lucky woman. She would never find a man who would love her like him.

I let them talk, and when they seemed distracted enough, I walked back to my place near my mother.

* * *

The engagement was celebrated in the same ballroom where they first met. Beatrice wore my ring, but I was not the one to give it to her.

Lemony looked like the happiest man on earth. I was happy too, for him, for them.

But as I retired to my room, after all the guests were gone, I didn't want to lie to myself. I wished that was me celebrating with her. The years had passed but I still loved her. But Lemony was happy, and I would never try to spoil it.

I wondered, though. Was she as happy as him? Was she finally doing something in which she was enjoying herself?


End file.
